Letter from a broken heartby Teklal Neguib

Tonight, I write to you from a country in tears, in tears of mourning and horror, a country who has seen 12 of its people die from for drawing cartoons. Bullets for cartoons. No comment.

Since Wednesday, I have spent my time crying. My body trembling, not from fear, but because of emotions, overwhealming emotions. Thoughts, shock, knock together. My heart is broken. Cartoonists, columnists, policemen, a cleaner, a proofreader, a festival founder are dead. Dead for France. Dead for an idea, a beautiful idea, one of the founding ideas of our democraties: freedom of speech.

Our ancestors of blood and arts fought before, and for some died for it, for us now. XVIII° century philosophers, rest in peace. Such freedom, such right, so dearly obtained, Wednesday was flouted. Murdering Charlie has murdered the Revolution. Murdering the 12 has murdered Voltaire. Murdering them has murdered French people, these people the Revolution told "all free man is French". Our hearts, our bodies and our souls vandalised by bullets and the blood of our dead. Our hearts are broken and our souls shattered. We are touched. All the country, the World, together behind Charlie, whatever we may have thought about it before. Get behind it, because it’s not time … no time to criticize. It’s time to be ONE, one people, one soul, one heart, with our decimated family.

Because it’s an important part of our family that we have lost, a part of what makes us who we are, we, this generation raised in the 80’s and the 90’s. Charlie Hebdo represents the part of irony which is so important to us, which built us as humans and now as adults. Our generation has lost part of what educated it. But the question is how will this generation of irony act and react ? out of sincerity, out of cynicism, out of hypocrisy and out of naivety, this generation which had been described as metamodernist. A generation born in crisis, nurtured in crisis, living an adult life in crisis. Living in a crisis culture. Living this days a transitional crisis moment. What will we do with this time? This event? Which part at the crossroads will we choose? More irony, in this time of the murder of irony? The increase of cynicism as a complete fall in faith for the future and for humanity? Could sincerity win, after these events? Or naivety as all the gatherings seem to show? Or, perhaps, a sort of balance will appear. Our generation is at the crossroads of which ways humans envisage the world and future.

In 10 or 15 years, we will reach in masses the levels of power: political power, economic power, artistic power… Some of us will become leaders. But how will this metamodernist generation use its power? What will we do with the World, with our siblings? What leaders will we become? This event is such an important moment, which impacts not only France, but the whole world, citizens of all countries, members of our generation all over the world, that we may say it will have an impact upon what sort of humans we will become, we will decide to become. Perhaps we will do nothing following this event (which is yet doing something). Perhaps we will do something, perhaps it will empower us. For the moment, it’s much too early to know, to answer the questions, but the next weeks, months and years will teach us a lot about our metamodernist generation, and what it will become. This event is such an impacting moment because the dead were our fathers, our brothers and sisters, and we are the depositories of their legacy, of this murdered irony. They died for freedom of speech. Because of a war, a war declared on art, politically correct or incorrect. To fall on a battlefield should not have to exist for paper and cartoons.

What did we think about the cartoons? Most of us appreciated them a lot, and some of us were shocked. Does that still have any importance? They are dead for us to have the right to agree, or not, for us to have the right to think, to question, about ourselves, about others, about everything. They are dead for us to be free. They acted without hate, and that is the essential. Because today, they can’t publish anything, even things which could make us moan. And that, that makes us moan even more. Because what is the use of having the right to moan if there is no-one to moan against? What is the use of having the right to laugh if there is no-one to make us laugh? Never forget that they are dead for us to have the right not to agree with them. Because, it would be better to moan, to grumble, to be angry, instead of seeing them all dead, all twelve of them, fallen for France and for freedom of speech. Dead on their own battlefield.

Because being a journalist, a cartoonist, but also an artist or a chief editor seems to be dangerous professions. How could we imagine that with our paintbrushes, our pencils, our pens, our photo-cameras and our film cameras, our bodies, our canvases, we could risk our lives, our safety, while we live in democraties? Our goal is never hatred, our goal is the instillation of thought within our fellow humans for a more peaceful coexistence, for all of us to reflect upon the world we live in. Because it’s the vocation of art and newspapers, even they are ironic or the complete opposite to make people reflect, question, effect self-analysis, widen their perspectives. How will the artists of our generation act and react? Art and newspapers are a richness, and an enrichment for each of us, as citizens, as artists, as humans.

How can art and newspapers play a role, a key role in the creation of contents, creators of thought? How may we participate in the emergence and vitality of our cultures in situations where sometimes there is not a lot of safety, and at worst no safety? Yet, culture, art, knowledge construct us as humans, and as citizens. They are our souls, which help raise us, touch us and sometimes appal us. They can unsettle us, but always they educate us, show us the way, give us faith in humanity, even in the most dreadful moments.

Among the Charlie Hebdo dead, there is one who particularly touched me. It was Cabu. Cabu, for the french of our generation (described as at the crossrads of irony, sincerity, hypocrisy, and overt naivety) was our father. As The Simpsons, and South park, our father in irony. He educated us to caricature, to the press cartoon, with tenderness and love, with patience and respect. Cabu? We waited for that moment, in front of the TV, when he was going todraw in our favorite kids TV show. For me, it was like waiting for a sweet, a long awaited moment. And I remember seeing him on TV.

Oh my god, no, it was not bullets I wanted to send him. Certainly not. I remember, when I saw him, I wanted to kiss and hug him. When we saw him, it was only tenderness and love we wanted to give him, to share with him, and nothing else. I was young, it was long time ago, but I never forgot this great Cabu with his sweet and funny cartoons. Father has passed, our generation is orphaned.

His cartoons were an emotion because art is emotion. And emotion creates us as human, as being. Emotion and tears are beautiful. They are our hearts’ art, the bloody tears of our wounded bodies. Wounded to unspeakable depth by the death of our fathers, our brothers, and sisters. About the gatherings, some said it was beautiful, but of no utility. I answered that beauty is yet useful by itself. It shows the unity of a nation, a people, behind this idea of freedom of speech, and its corollary, freedom of opinion (for agreeing or disagreeing). It shows this solidarity, this shared mourning, this support we give each other, for staying on our feet. It’s a great moment of naivety. But sometimes, naivety is necessary. Believing in us, having faith in humanity is what the world needs, what human beings need, to have trust in the future.

In France, in foreign countries, this seen support is a caress to our afflicted and teary hearts, a sweet caress of reassurance in this time of mourning and pain. It is a little soothing, a way to show to our dead what they meant to us, what freedom represents for each and everyone of us.

Caresses to the soul, caresses to the heart are so important in these moment, a calming cure. Sometimes, what makes you feel good can take peculiar ways. The day of the twelve's murders, an artist had published her last song, and the video of it. It’s Sia, and I can say, at that moment, my mind was not in listening music mode. In the end, I decided to listen to it (for permiting me to think about something else). It was no deception. Both the song and the video are absolutely splendid, very emotional. But more, it was a shock.The music and the video spoke to me about myself, my feelings, after the attack. About my emotions, various, contradictory, savage, violent or sweet. A desire for revolt, a desire for crying, breaking everything, hiding myself away, being angry, being with the other, needing him or her, a desire for tenderness and rendering tenderness back.

The music and the video have no link, of course, with the event, but in the end, they accompanied me in my process of mourning and shock. Because the music of Elastic Heart is the symphony of my emotions, the video the mirror of my pains. They are my music for Charlie, a music video I spend my time listening to and watching. And I cry…Because emotions are musicAnd music is emotionWe always come back to (he)art…

He was named CabuHe was named AhmedHe was named CharbShe was named ElsaHe was named TignousHe was named FranckHe was named WolinskiHe was named MichelHe was named BernardHe was named FrédéricHe was named HonoréHe was named Mustapha

For Charlie HebdoFor the 12For the 17For freedom of speechFor newspapersFor artFor we, all